Destined: A different side of Revan
by Duke Uuito
Summary: Not-so-fairly simple KOTOR plot-following fic. Rated M for language and future violence/sex. Three goddamn years without internet and I'm back from the backwards end of the world!
1. Prologue: Born of Fire

Unfamiliar voices float through a man's head.

"What should we do with…"

"How could he have possibly…"

"What?" "How?" "When?"

If he were conscious no doubt the man would have found the frantic questioning somewhat humorous. Alas, this was not the case.

The most feared Sith Lord in millennia lay prostrate on a sterile metal table in a dank stone room. Surrounding him were his aforementioned interrogators, arrayed in a circle around his still form. Swathing their bodies like the very shadows pulled from the dark corners of the room were heavy robes of muted hue, hoods drawn up, only frantic mouth movement shattering the stillness of their being.

Yes, Revan himself was left helpless to the Jedi. Digging through his mind like that of an open grave, they sifted through memories, discarding most but like a prospector storing away those that gave promise. These little nuggets of gold would be used in stitching together a new personality and history from Revan's cannibalized memories.

A child's first repulsorlift bike ride? Tossed.

A Gotharian frozen ice with his father? Tossed.

Taken away by the Jedi order for training? Tossed.

A stern reprimand from a respected authority figure? Kept and stored away.

"Minimize the damage, but what about…force?"

"Damage to cranial…trauma…cut off"

Even while unconscious, Revan felt the intense body-wide pain that this process caused. Flame lanced through his veins as his new personality was created, one loyal to the Republic, selfless, obedient, devised to keep him (and the rest of the known galaxy) "safe".

One of the masters overseeing this operation, "abomination of the force" some would call it, smiled slightly. She felt a hand on her bony shoulder, one of the others comforting her.

"Hope springs eternal, no?"

The woman shook her head slightly, the smile growing into a knowing smirk. She gestured down to Revan's mouth, which was stuck in a rictus of pain.

"So he is reborn much like he died, is he not?"

An eyebrow raised, a thought betrayed.

"I don't follow."

The woman looked up from Revan's mouth, her bony hands gesturing as if she were a schoolteacher showing a particularly slow student some obvious concept.

"A galaxy once united, now sliced in twain

Power held even through endless pain

War and bloodshed, in an infinite gyre

The destined warrior, born of fire."

The cryptic message being her last words told, she walked out, leaving a stunned master Khal'Dram staring down at the motionless body of what was once the single most terrifying thing he had known. His work was done, all that was left was for handpicked masters to program in details about Revan's recent "past". One of his colleagues noticed distress plaguing the normally-pristine pool of Khal's face.

"What we did was for the greater good, this is for certain."

"Yes, of course." Khal shook the distress off his face and smiled at his longtime companion.

"I still can't help but wonder, though…"

The other master shot Khal a questioning look. "Though…please continue."

"It was nothing, fancies of an idle mind." A small smile and a brief wave were shown to the said master before Khal went on his way.

_The destined warrior, born of fire._


	2. Chapter 1: A Day in the Life

**Author's note: Welp, here's my first attempt at writing anything non-academic, really. Hopefully it won't fall flat on its face. _ As always, reviews are both welcome and wanted, especially critiques on how to write dialogue better, as I seem to kick myself in the teeth with that often. Hope peeps enjoy 3**

**This chapter focuses mostly around "Gerik" and Revan's conflicting personalities, such that Gerik will feel at odds with himself for reasons unexplained to him. After all, memory modification is hardly an exact science. Introducing some OCs and everyone's favorite Padawan prodigy. Annoying as hell to write, too much talking, not enough action, but what's a story without exposition, eh? **

**Coruscant – 3,956 BBY.**

Jedi Master Khal'Dram absently looked through a transparisteel viewport at a newly-commissioned _Hammerhead_ class Republic cruiser. The _Endar Spire_ was a sleek weapon of war aimed at transporting high-value personnel to designated battle sites. Crimson stripes ran from its bow to its back as if foretelling the ship's bloody future, looking at the way the stripes ran across the "head" of the vessel broke Khal out of his reverie. They reminded him of a certain mask once feared throughout the galaxy.

_There is no emotion…_

Khal's head gave an involuntary twitch as his charge came into view. "Gerik Tassa" definitely cut an imposing figure, a large man who carried himself with an air of independence. Six entire months had passed since the operation to create a new man out of the Sith Lord, and this would be Gerik's first foray out into the world mostly unsupervised. Well, aside from the auburn-haired Padawan standing rather impatiently behind him, shifting from foot to foot. She chewed her bottom lip as her gaze flitted from Gerik to Khal and back again.

Bastila, a prodigy of a Padawan, could turn entire battles around with the use of an extremely powerful discipline called "Battle Meditation". She was the reason the _Endar Spire_ was even commissioned, as the council thought she needed to have her own retinue as an extremely high-value target for the Sith armada. Turning her head at Khal, the flipping auburn tresses giving away her agitation, she placed a delicate hand on the transparisteel window.

"Master, pardon me, but I must simply ask." She placed two fingers to her temple, as if staving off a headache. "There's no chance of regression while on his own? Do we have a plan in case of recovery?"

Khal'Dram turned around, robes rustling slightly and plastered a reassuring smile on his face for the sake of the Padawan. "There are always risks involved in working with such a powerful mind, young Bastila." The smile crumbled off of his face as he took on a more serious tone. "But the rewards are far worth braving these risks. Now tell me, what did the Order state when we did this?"

Bastila brightened visibly as she recited as if from a textbook.

"What greater weapon is there than to turn an enemy to your cause? To use their own knowledge against them?"

The master nodded. "Just remember that. Your success is vital to the survival to the Republic."

"Yes, master, now if I may be excused, I must tend to my other duties." Bastila bowed to Khal'Dram and left the viewing room at a brisk walk, as if given new purpose. Khal smiled at her retreating back, finding good humor in her conviction and impulsiveness.

_If anyone can keep the former lord of the Sith in check, it is most definitely that one._

_-End of Line-_

The sound of the crowd was unbearable, screeching metal mixed with a milling mass of humanity.

Gerik Tassa glanced around himself uncomfortably, the gleaming towers and transport-clogged sky held no wonder or beauty for him. As far back as Gerik could remember, he was always more at home in wild places, unexplored worlds full of natural power held his attention more rapt than the most expensive venues. He shifted his minimal pack to a more comfortable position as he looked around the clogged and crowded military dock. Ships of all shapes and sizes dominated the space, all customarily painted with the two red stripes of the Republic. Gerik snorted at the Republic's catchphrase - "Leading the way to victory", as he glanced over a recruitment poster.

The swarming crowd of red and black uniformed soldiers jostled and nudged Gerik around, unaccustomed as he was to navigating through large groups of people. He scratched at his closely cropped beard, trying to decide which ship was the one he was assigned to. Gerik removed a sheaf of papers from his bag, double checked the nearest ship, a cruiser called the _Endar Spire_, and walked up to a severe-looking woman standing at attention at the boarding ramp.

"Orders?" She held out her hand in a business-like manner; spoke in a tone of voice that obviously brooked no fooling around.

Gerik held out the sheaf of papers he had in his hand. "Ensign Tassa reporting for duty, ma'am."

The woman gave him back his orders after giving them a cursory inspection. "Report to the quartermaster in the ship's hold for assignment." She smiled, lightening her demeanor somewhat. "Welcome aboard, Ensign."

The red-haired man grinned at her and continued on his way up the boarding ramp. He stopped right as he was about to enter the main holding area and looked up at the massive bulk of the _Spire_.

_Why am I doing this again?_ Gerik wondered. Why was he going to war? After all, he was one of the most prolific explorers in the whole of the Republic. All he knew is that the Republic tore him away from his only known life to send him on some war that concerned the whole of the galaxy. A sense of patriotism was flowing through Gerik, though he had no idea where it could have stemmed from. Odd.

_In times of war, explorers become soldiers._ Of course, the Republic needed as many of those as it could possibly get, the war against the Sith rapidly turning against them. Gerik was surprised to find himself at ease with this sentiment

_For the greater good._ At this thought, Gerik cradled his head in his hands, a lance of fire ripping through his mind. It felt as if he were trying to recall a dream, but was rapidly drifting away.

"You alright, there?" Gerik looked up at a young woman, her jacket marking her as one private Emil, dirty blonde hair falling out the front of her regulation military cap. "Can't decide why you joined up either?" She gave a quite un-ladylike snort. "You're not the only one."

Gerik grinned, a smile breaking his bearded face, here he was, on an unfamiliar ship, and not 5 minutes in he seemed to make a potential friend.

_Better keep an eye on her, she's far too friendly._

At this, Gerik shook his head again. It felt like the different locale was screwing around with his head, he just wasn't himself amidst the busybodies of Coruscant.

_Perhaps when we get to open space I'll feel more…me._

He held out a hand to the disgruntled private. "Gerik Tassa, explorer turned soldier, I guess."

Private Emil raised an eyebrow and took the proffered hand. "Terry Emil, former gutter rat." She grinned to match his. "Nothing quite so spectacular as a great Republic explorer, I guess." The private made a face. "Guess none of that matters anymore, though. Know anything about this place we're heading?"

_How should I kno-_ Gerik remembered the orders he received. He let go of Terry's hand to grab the sheaf of papers out of his pack. _Taris, ugh, a dying world, filled to brimming with decay and corruption if I remember correctly._ "Taris, it looks like."

Private Emil's face darkened visibly at this. "I should get going; quartermaster won't like it if I'm late." With that hurried goodbye she whisked out the door.

_So, a __**Tarisian**__ street rat, eh? Should be interesting. Now, to find the quartermaster myself._

Gerik walked through the halls, surrounded by other recruits no doubt on their way to do the same. The quartermaster, a gruff older man, handed him his room assignment, he was to bunk with a certain Trask Ulgo, a relatively experienced soldier. He went to his room to get some much needed rest before his first on-duty task.

_-End of Line-_

_He made a friend already? Maybe we really don't have anything to worry about._

Bastila made her way through the throng of people, most of them parted for the famous Jedi; those who didn't looked quickly embarrassed as they realized exactly who they were blocking. Like a larger fish parting minnows, she glided to the bridge where a man was waiting for her. Clad in a garish orange flight jacket, the man turned around.

Carth Onasi, hero of the Mandalorian wars and ace pilot of the Republic fleet, stood with his hands behind his back. "Welcome aboard, Padawan Bastila, we're all the more grateful for your presence here with us. We shall endeavor to keep you save and able throughout our assignment."

Bastila winced at the forced formality in his voice. Jedi training made her acutely aware of personalities at first glance, and this Carth definitely didn't seem to be the formal type, he seemed more at home in the cockpit of a starfighter than on the bridge of a cruiser. She bowed to the bridge with equal formality.

"It will be on honor to serve with you, I hope that I can be of use in the future." Bastila smiled tiredly, at least she made her appearance. Her façade slipped a bit as she started chewing on her bottom lip. "There is the matter of a new addition to your crew, however. A…" She recalled a phrase used by her masters. "…special case."

Carth was instantly on edge. "Our security let off someone obviously suspicious onto this ship? Get him or her up here right now, I want a full perimeter set up around the bridg-"

"Please, Captain Onasi, it isn't anything like that. There's just a, well, a person of interest on this ship." Bastila's eyes narrowed, she wanted to be obeyed in this and brooked no nonsense. "You are to keep track of this man at all times, and protect him at all costs."

"Now, missie, I don't know where you think you're getting your orders from, but on this ship _I'm _in command." Carth's eyes narrowed dangerously and he widened his stance, glaring at the young Jedi in front of him.

Raising her chin, Bastila matched Carth stare for stare and handed him a stack of papers, the symbol of the Jedi Enclave of Dantooine stamped on the topmost one. Carth scratched his chin, stubble rasping as he looked over the files. "Why do I think I'm not getting the whole story here?"

Taking back the folder with a syrupy smile, Bastila reveled in being privy to information others didn't know. "Because you're not. It's on a, what's the military term for it? _Need to know basis_. Now if you'll excuse me, it appears to be time for my meditation." She inclined her head ever so slightly to the Captain, turning on a heel, robes flowing dramatically, and glided out the room much like how she entered.

Carth, inwardly fuming, turned his back on the door and waved at his internal affairs officer. "Mr. Higgs, fetch the information about Ensign Tassa and bring it to me at once."

The officer inclined his head in the affirmative, bringing up the file in question and handed it to the Captain.

"Ensign Ulgo, you're bunking with Tassa, right?"

A white-blond head jerked back. "Yessir, we're on opposite shifts, sir."

"Keep tabs on him. I don't care what the _Jedi_ have to say about this." Carth snorted, giving voice to what he felt about the order at that time. "There's something fishy going on here, and I don't have problems on my ship, is that clear?"

Trask gulped audibly. "Yessir, crystal, sir."

"Good." Carth turned to the rest of the bridge, addressing them. "Let's just make this a routine trip, people! I don't want the Jedi to get any more hold on our balls than they already have, so let's not give them an excuse.

_Just a routine trip, with a more-than-difficult passenger list._


	3. Chapter 2: Hilarity Ensues

**A/N: I own nothing from the Star Wars universe and whatever.**

**More talking, yeah! Should be getting into the actual game timeline next chapter, this is just more exposition and character devopment! To my more bloodthirsty readers: the sword-swinging, blaster-firing, gutwrenching (literally) action begins next chapter, so hang in there!**

**En route to Taris - Military travel line – 3,956 BBY – 17:00**

The cool metal walls and harsh fluorescent lighting of the _Endar Spire_ slowly started to grow on Gerik over the matter of weeks he was stationed there. The false "mornings" of space slowly blurred together, aside from the occasional sharp head pain or lost dream feeling.

_It feels like I'm trying to grab a handful of sand and the harder I hold onto it, the faster it slips through my fingers._

He let the steaming water rush over his head, supporting himself with one hand against the tiled wall. The headaches seemed to come more frequently when he was idle. And with the headaches came that missing dream feeling. There was something _important_ that he was missing, but he had no idea what it was.

_And it's driving me up the goddamn walls._

He stood there for a good five minutes or so, letting the steam wash away some of the confusion and head pain.

Nodding to some of the other soldiers as he walked back from the showers, he gave the customary catcallers the universal sign for "up yours". Private Emil walked up to him and jokingly put her arms around his neck.

"What, the big strong butterbar doesn't like being 'appreciated'"? Emil gave a lopsided grin and stuck her tongue out at Gerik. More exactly, stuck her tongue out at Gerik's chest; he was quite a bit taller than her, after all.

The large man pushed her away in good humor. "You're just damn jealous that you can't have _this_ face." Gerik batted his eyes and gestured towards his craggy features.

Emil laughed and snorted. "Yeah, because it doesn't look like a fucking battleground at _all_. Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but something chewed you up good." She pointed towards a scar running lengthwise across his forehead. "Whatever _that _was, I hope I don't ever have to come across the damn thing."

Tracing the scar on his forehead, Gerik remembered a gigantic insect-like animal. Some kind of perverted cross between a tiger and a praying mantis that damn near took his head off. Voice full of false bravado he grimaced comically, "Comes with the job, I suppose." He turned and opened up his locker, examining his face in the mirror, running a hand over it. His beard would need a trim soon if he wanted to avoid being chewed out by the Captain again. Gerik rolled his shoulders as he grabbed his dog tags and uniform out of the locker.

Black pants/boots, red jacket, and a pair of gold bars marking himself as an Ensign. Ignoring the jab about "butterbar" earlier, he slipped on his uniform, holding the officer's cap under his arm. Emil poked a finger at his chest. "Yeah yeah, how dashing. You better get the hell to the bridge, before Captain Hardass chews you out again."

At this, Gerik gave a heavy sigh and tried to put together yet another puzzle. The Captain seemed to have some natural dislike of him for some unknown reason. The only thing he could think of was that he didn't have to go through the normal military training like the rest of the unit.

_Or maybe the entire damn fleet._

Instant conscription to an officer position, lowly as it was, was completely unheard of. "I'll just do what I always do, act like I'm translating Shyriiwook and keep my head down so the damn slavedriver won't find another excuse to hang me up by my toes." As a communications officer on the bridge, his job was mostly relegated to monitoring and sending communiques between ships, along with watching the bands for potential Sith transmissions.

_Except the only thing I really do is sit there until the Captain tells me to send __**another**__ meaningless message to a ship we're passing within one parsec._

"We'd better hurry up, or else the captain'll have _both_ of our balls." Emil started off to the bridge at a swift jog. Gerik raised an eyebrow at her.

"I always knew there was more to you than I thought." Gerik said, grinning and gesturing between her legs.

"Fuck off, big man."

The banter continued as they jogged to the bridge.

-End of Line—

Carth watched as the inseparable duo made their way onto the bridge, trying to suppress raucous laughter.

_Probably some stupid thing that joker said again._ Ever since he got the missive from the Jedi Order, Carth had an instant dislike of the man, and by extension, his cadre of ne'er do wells. At least they were on time today. Carth didn't even know why the Jedi Order determined that this random Ensign was so damn important. The only special thing about him seemed to be a grasp of almost every language in the known galaxy. Impressive, the Captain had to admit, but hardly case for a special place in Bastila's retinue along with a folder the size of a small moon that he glimpsed on her desk during a meeting.

He shook his head. That meeting did _not_ go well.

_The young woman was seated cross-legged on her desk, stacks of paper set neatly to either side of her. Her breathing was light and even, small pieces of memorabilia were floating slowly around the room. Carth knocked on the open door, getting her attention._

_Breaking out of her trance, the items slowly sunk down to the floor, Bastila slid off of the desk and bowed to the Captain. "Mr. Onasi, as you can no doubt see, I am fairly busy at the moment."_

_Carth rolled his eyes. Busy sitting at her desk, maybe._

"_I need to know about Ensign Tassa. I don't know what you have on him, but if it in any way compromises the success of my crew or this mission, then I __**need to know**__." Quick, to the point, and stern, Carth didn't want to beat around the bush with needless formality this time around._

_Bastila pushed a lock of hair behind one ear, her eyes flitting to a folder on the desk before landing on the Captain. "This is Jedi business, Mr. Onasi, it wouldn't do any good for you nor the rest of the military to know."_

_Carth pounded his fist into the side of the durasteel doorframe, his face a thundercloud. "Dammit, girl, if it's on __**my**__ bridge, it's __**my**_ _business." He followed Bastila's gaze to the folder sitting neatly on the desk, the label said "Gerik Tassa". The captain's finger shot out, pointing accusingly at the offending folder. "Is __**that**__ his file?"_

_Bastila signed and answered in the affirmative. Carth ran a hand through his hair, giving an incredulous laugh. "Are you fuc-" He glanced at the Jedi "-Uh. Kidding me? I've seen intelligence files before, and there are entire __**systems**__ that don't have as much as you have on that man!"_

_At this outburst, one of Bastila's aides ran into the room. "Is there a problem, ma'am?"_

_The Jedi smiled sweetly at her aide. "No problem at all." She gave Carth a pointed look. "The __**Captain**__ was just leaving." Carth threw up his hands in exasperation and left, muttering about the Jedi and their insistence on keeping secrets._

Carth shook his head, ridding himself the unwelcome memory, if the Jedi wanted to keep a secret, there was no way that anyone could pry it from their fingers.

"-tain"

Damn Jedi, thinking that what they knew everything about everything there was to know. Carth grimaced, just thinking about those blasted mumbo-jumbo spouting robe-wearing-

"Captain!"

Gerik's call jerked Carth out of his Jedi-hating fantasy world. "What is it, Ensign?"

"Sir, there appears to be a Republic military distress signal coming from the Taris system. Signal type 4C." Gerik looked back towards the Captain, a questioning look on his face. Carth mused. A 4C was the distress signal for a Sith ambush, normally a light picket fleet or a small raiding party, neither of which would be a match for the _Endar Spire's_ massive amount of firepower

"Should I respond with the countersignal, sir?"

"Respond with the appropriate one. Put me on the speaker as well." Carth turned to address the bridge, along with the rest of the ship.

"Alright, listen up crew, we're dropping out of hyperspace at 17:00 Coruscant, and chances are, when we get there we're gonna see a fight. I want to see everyone at action stations at no later than 15:00." At this, Carth gave Gerik and Private Emil pointed looks. "Just do your jobs and we'll make those Sith bastards pay." His gaze swept around the bridge. "Business as usual until then, I don't want to see any nerves screwing around with performance."

A hydraulic hissing sound was heard, along with the rhythmic swishing of heavy cloth. Bastila swept into the bridge, agitation once again marring her delicate features. "What is this about 'action stations'? Taris was just supposed to be a flyover, was it not?"

Carth turned around, his anger finally plain to see. "Would someone just **get her out of here**?" Bastila started to interrupt with a common Jedi saying, but Carth would have none of it. "No. There is **no** Jedi mumbo-jumbo on this bridge, this is now a high-risk military operation, and you" he pointed at the young Jedi "are not authorized to be here. Confine her to quarters until we break hyperspace."

Emil and another security officer flanked Bastila. "Come with us, ma'am." Bastila was visibly fuming as she was lead off by the bridge's security force.

-End of Line-

_Wonderful, my first assignment for this thrice-blasted republic and I get stuck in some border skirmish. _

"Sith spit." Gerik grimaced and rolled out a few kinks in his neck. His trip back to quarters was much more subdued than it normally was, the raucous laughter almost absent from the hallways it abounded in not hours earlier.

Well, except for Emil, anyway. Gerik marveled at how the young woman seemed to be bounding with energy _all the time_. She never seemed to stop.

"Ya know, I can't help but love the Cap now since he told that Jedi chick to stuff it." Emil, rather than simply walk down the hallways, strode in an awfully awkward skip-hopping style.

"'The Cap'? Not eight hours ago he was 'Captain Hardass of the RRF Slavedriver'." Gerik rolled his eyes at the security officer, twirling a finger around his ear in the universal gesture for "you're crazy".

"Aaw, but she is _such_ a little cuntbucket!"

"Cun-that's a new one." Gerik scratched at a scar on his arm. "I'll have to remember that, maybe I'll be alone with that one and actually get to use it."

Terry gave him a cheeky grin. "You just want to be 'alone' with her to 'conquer the ample mountains.'" Gerik slapped her lightly across the top of the head.

"That one? I've seen bigger 'mountains' on Dantooine."

"What then, delve into her deepest of valleys? Carve out a mineshaft searching for minerals?" Gerik's face slowly turned redder and redder until it turned the same color as his beard. Finally getting a rise out of the stoic man, the private stopped her interrogation. "Alright, alright, I'll quit talking about how you want to bone Jedi Jailbait."

Even Gerik couldn't stop himself from laughing at that. "Do you have a nickname for everyone?" He threw up his hands in mock piety. "Is nothing sacred to you?"

"Nope." Emil gave her signature lopsided smile and sauntered into the crew quarters. All Gerik could hear from the inside was her high-pitched voice.

"**Hey everyone, Gerik wants to bone the Jedi!**"

He did all he could in that situation, sigh and take the good-humored abuse that was soon to be leveled on him by the crew. Waving off the comments, some of them rather shocking even for one as far-traveled as him, Gerik pushed through the sea of lewd faces to Emil's footlocker, finding her ostensibly cleaning her slightly-chewed fingernails.

"Now _that_ was about as subtle as a Gamorrean sea-slug, woman." Gerik folded corded arms over his chest, doing his best to look imposing, a task mostly upended by the many crewmembers behind him making rather suggestive moments behind his back.

"Aaah, come on, you said yourself." Emil lifted herself off of the bed, leaning back on her hands. "With that face you could get any woman you wanted."

"Then why don't I?"

"Well yeah, why don't you?"

Throughout this "conversation", the two soldiers shifted closer to each other with every word spoken. Their noses almost touching, Terry spoke in a hushed voice.

"You know, most women wouldn't say 'no'. Especially since, ya…" She pulled a face at the use of cliché "we could all be dead by this time tomorrow." Gerik pushed himself closer towards Emil's trembling lips.

"I just need you to know one thing before…"

"It doesn't matter."

Their breath almost mingling, the entire population of the quarters looking onto them, Gerik put a finger to her lips.

"Gotcha."

The onlooking crew burst into laughter, applauding his maneuver, private Emil turning bright red.

"You're not just a big lug, are ya?" She sighed, shoulders rocking with silent mirth. "Well played, 'sir'." Emil through a mock salute at him.

Gerik grinned. "You didn't think I was just going to let that comment about the Jedi slide, did you?"

"Fine, I won't mention 'little miss statutory' if you don't mention this…" She shook her head, blonde hair flipping through the air "…whatever this was."

"That's a deal I can live with, then."

"You know, this does kind of suck." Emil stopped cleaning her nails to look out of the nearest viewport. "We _could_ all be dead tomorrow."

"What, **us**? A washed-up explorer and a backtalking private?" Gerik struck a mock-heroic pose. "The Sith better run the fuck away when **we** show up."

The private in question kicked her heels up and giggled. "No thanks, I'll leave the fighting to the Captain, I just joined for the free grub."

_Or a way to get off of the street._

"Really though, don't worry about it." He stood up, brushing imaginary wrinkles out of his uniform. "Now, if you'll excuse me, milady." Gerik gave an over-ostentatious bow. "I gotta get the fuck to sleep."

Giggling again at this juxtaposition of dialect, Emil watched his retreating back. She couldn't help wondering, however, what if that kiss was real?

_What if he actually felt what I do?_

If they survived the next day, she would have to confront him.

_**If **__we survive, heh._


	4. Chapter 3: Spire's Fall

**A/N: In my most humble of opinions, having a ship that can break another one out of hyperspace is stupid, especially since I subscribe to the theory that "hyperspace" is the ship merely moving space around it instead of the other way around. Because physics says so, you cannot go faster than the speed of light in a conventional way, so blah blah blah I use ****Dune**** logic. Because of this, I made Taris a flyover, for all of you canon-consistency junkies out there. The gravity well generators of the **_**Leviathan **_**will stop a ship from jumping to hyperspace and perhaps bring one out of it early, but will not be able to interrupt it if the ship is just passing through. **

**I also wanted to highlight the severity of "Gerik's" condition in this chapter, as a high-risk situation carries with it massive amounts of stress/uncertainty. Obviously, a completely new personality won't take, kind of like how organs will not take if one is of a different blood type. **

**In times of stress, as you can read, the blocks set up by the Jedi Council start to erode. This causes Revan's actual personality to start taking over, making "Gerik" much more assertive and dominating than usual, and sometimes downright cruel or sadistic.**

**Bridge of the **_**Endar Spire**_** – Orbit around Taris.– 3,956 BBY – 16:00 Coruscant**

"ETA to orbit around Taris in 10 minutes, sir."

Carth's face darkened, preparing himself mentally for the Sith onslaught. "Set condition one throughout the ship, lieutenant."

"Aye, sir."

The harsh white fluorescence of the lighting turned to a shade of red that just screamed "caution". Carth gripped the arms of his chair, anxious for the moment that they made the leap back into physical space again. It seemed like the entire ship was collectively holding its breath during those 10 minutes, no one wanting to break the silence. Then came the familiar feeling of deceleration, a lurching, sliding, kind of feel that came over the crew. A feeling of subdued panic spread throughout the ship, they were falling out of hyperspace far sooner than anticipated.

_What? This is way too early. Either our navigation computers screwed it up, or we're caught in a… _

The stars slowly turned from streaks to pinpricks, and the viewport was obscured by some kind of grey haze. As they slowly phased back into physical space, the haze manifested itself as a gargantuan Sith cruiser, its silvery bulk not a mile away from trading paint with the _Endar Spire's_ hull.

…_gravity well. _

"Evasive action! Get that damn planet between us and them!"

Carth's nails dug into the false leather armrests of the Captain's chair, he'd know that starship anywhere. The _Leviathan_, no doubt under the command of his old mentor, had enough firepower to blow the _Spire_ and Taris off of the galactic map. Carth pried one hand loose from his chair to run it over his face, there was no way that they could just jump away without the authorization codes, or the _Spire_ would just be caught in the massive gravity wells the _Leviathan_ was producing. The only advantage that the _Endar Spire_ had was speed. _Interdictor-_class cruisers were notoriously slow, but they made up for it in sheer toughness and firepower.

There was only one thing to do in this situation. Run away. He hoped by using the planet's gravity, they would be able to slingshot around and just by impulse power, get past the gravity well long enough to jump away. It probably would have worked, too. That is, if anyone else was commanding the _Leviathan_. Interceptor fighters streamed from the bowels of the _Leviathan_, peppering the bulk of the _Spire_ with blaster fire.

"Divert power from main engines to laser batteries and shields, lieutenant!" Carth shook his head.

_There's always a way out._

It wasn't long before the _Leviathan's_ many quad- and turbo-laser batteries started spraying the _Endar Spire_ with a storm of energy. The bridge itself was rocking, the _Spire_ firing back with what it could, but its firepower wasn't a match for the larger, better equipped ship, barely scorching the hull in places. The lights in the bridge flickered once, twice, and then the bombardment stopped.

"Damage report!" Carth stood out of his chair, craning his neck through the blackened viewscreen, trying to catch a glimpse at what his mentor was playing at.

"Engine power at 40%, deflector shields holding, turbolaser batteries are out of commission, sir." The lieutenant gulped and his hands flew over the holographic keyboard in front of him. "If we continue on our current course, we won't have the engine power to escape the planet's gravity."

_Damn._

"Sir, they're also launching troop transports."

This didn't really take Carth by surprise, if they had the _Leviathan_ stationed here, the Sith obviously wanted Bastila. He lurched around towards the door.

"You two, from this point on, your only directive is to get Bastila safely off of this ship!" The two security officers snapped to attention, giving the Captain brief salutes before rushing out of the bridge towards the Jedi's quarters.

"Trask, put me on speaker, and find your bunkmate and get him the hell to the escape pods."

_Whatever in the damn galaxy Bastila and the Jedi want with that man, they'll get him._

Carth sat back in his chair, listening to the _Spire's_ hull creak and groan under the pressure of boarding vessels docking and slicing through the ship's walls.

"Attention crew! Condition one has been set throughout the ship, prepare to repel boarders, I want batteries and blocks stationed at all major corridors."

He sighed and turned to the flight operations officer. "Sha'Ta, launch all available fighters, tell them to target boarding ships before anything else."

The Twi'lek nodded in assent, relaying the orders to the launch bays of the _Spire_. Republic-manned fighters streamed out of the launch ports of the ship, but they were completely dwarfed in size by the endless supply of interceptors that the _Leviathan _was putting onto the field. The fighters slowed down the progress of the boarding plan somewhat, but not near enough to make a difference.

A shaking and screeching sound caught the Captain's attention from the walkway leading into the bridge. Sparks flew from the walls, forcing the security personnel stationed outside to rush into the command unit.

"I want all blast doors locked and sealed! No one gets in here without breaking the doors down, are we clear!"

A chorus of "ayes" was heard and the blast doors leading into the bridge were slammed shut and sealed against entry. Carth slammed his fist on the side of his chair, a pair of matching blaster pistols popping out of the armrests. He caught them deftly, powered them up and took a covering position behind his chair, the rest of the bridge doing much the same thing.

"We're to hold out here until the Jedi and her coterie get off-ship, get me? Keep in cover, shoot at whatever crosses those doors, and give up _no_ ground until they get the hell out of here!" The doors to the bridge started to smoke and shake.

They were breaking through.

-End of Line-

_A calm wind pushed through the hammock, gently rocking him to sleep. Gerik enjoyed his day on the beaches of Selena IV, a popular vacation spot for tourists of all kinds. Calm oceans and sunny beaches, what could be better? However, a storm on the horizon caused the wind to pick up, making his hammock rock uncomfortably beneath him. The wind didn't stop picking up, until his hammock was pitching and tossing every which direction. Thunder was heard in the distance, almost shaking the very ground he was staked to._

Gerik's eyes flew open, scanning around his room. The viewports were blackened and soot-covered because of blaster fire, but from what he could see, there was a raging battle going on outside.

_And it feels like we're losing._ Another huge explosion rocked the core of the _Endar Spire_, nearly pitching Gerik over the side of his bed. _ Shit, and I'm still in my shorts, no way to meet an attack._

At that moment, his erstwhile bunkmate, Trask Ulgo, came dashing into the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Good, you're up. Listen, we've been ambushed by a Sith battle fleet! The _Endar Spire_ is under attack! Hurry up – We don't have much time!"

Gerik rolled to his feet, the guy looked serious, and judging by the way the battle was going; he needed a way off of the ship **fast**. Still clad in only his shorts, he kicked his footlocker open, rummaging through it, tossing his uniform behind him.

Trask's eyebrows shot up in indignation. "You're going to need that, you know." He picked up the jacket, boots, and pants and handed them back to the larger man.

"Listen up, Trask. I'm not wearing that _thing _in a firefight. It's restrictive and I might as well paint a fucking _target _on my chest, now where we-aah! Here we go!" Gerik held up a pair of weather-beaten black leather boots, serviceable shirt and pants, and an often-patched and acid-stained leather vest. He grunted as he pulled the boots on. "In that locker, there should be a vibroblade and a pistol, grab 'em for me, will you?"

The blonde man laid the weapons on the bunk where Gerik was sitting. Now fully dressed, Gerik outfitted himself in the offered weaponry.

"Now hurry up! We need to get you to the escape pods where Bastila is waiting!"

Gerik snorted at this. "Jedi Jailb-Eer. Jedi Bastila? What in hell would _she_ want from me?"

_Especially to send someone to make sure I got out of here alive, something smells fishy…_

Trask tossed him an agitated look. "Listen, I know you aren't a soldier, but you've been to some of the most dangerous places in the galaxy! You might have seen something that you didn't recognize that she needs! What matters now is that we need to get you to her, and safely, she's already waiting at the escape pods!"

"Alright, what are we waiting for, then, lead the way!" Gerik motioned Trask towards the room doors, which he unlocked with the lockdown security codes he obtained from Carth. The only "living" thing in the crew quarters was a droid working on repairing a fluorescent panel smashed along the side of a wall, giving off intermittent bursts of light. Right as they passed the droid, Trask's communicator went off, the beeps echoing in the forlorn room.

"_This is Captain Onasi – The Sith are threatening to overrun our position! We can't hold out long against this firepower, all hands to the bridge!"_

Trask gaped at his communicator open-mouthed. "That was Carth Onasi, he's seen more act-" Gerik cut him off.

"I've been on this damn ship almost a _month_ and you think I have no clue who the _Captain_ is? Did you hit your head or something?"

The next door opened as easily as the first, the lockdown protocol easily giving way to Trask's obtained security codes. The door opened into a curved hallway, beyond which they could hear the sounds of blaster fire and grenade blasts. Turning the corner, the soldier and explorer duo saw two Republic soldiers fighting a similar number of Sith boarders. The Republic soldiers went down in minutes, leaving Gerik and Trask alone to deal with them.

"Those Sith must be with the advance boarding party! For the Republic!" Trask charged out and came face-to-face with the mirror-faced intruders.

_Is the guy __**trying**__ to get himself killed?_

Trask dove for cover, peppering the oncoming Sith with short bursts from his rifle. Gerik stood behind the door, out of sight, waiting for the troopers to surround his comrade.

And surround him they did.

Gerik rolled out of the doorway, swinging his vibroblade in a low two-handed arc, lopping off the closest soldier's leg below the knee. The Sith trooper screamed as the blood fountained out of his leg and lost his balance. Trask took advantage of the confusion and delivered a full salvo of blaster fire to the second soldier's chestplate, fusing the metal to flesh, killing both in a matter of seconds. Breathing heavily, Trask made as if to stop the bleeding for the Sith trooper.

"Leave him." Gerik gestured with his vibroblade, blood caking the blade and splattering the durasteel floor beneath him, face still flushed in the afterglow of battle.

Trask was alarmed, "Republic code states that we should take prisoners alive if possible, and this one will blee-"

The larger man turned on a boot heel, smearing the blood in a gruesome arc across the floor and made his way towards the next door.

"Let him bleed."

The duo made their way through the flickering corridors, stepping over bodies of both Republic and Sith soldiers alike. After a short time, they came to another crossroads in the ship, where even more blaster fire was rocketing around. Gerik motioned for Trask to stay put and crept to the end of the hallway, back to the wall. He peered around the corner, poking his head out and just then a grenade went off amidst a group of Republic and Sith soldiers engaged in melee combat. Gerik pulled away from the frag grenade's explosion as small bits of shrapnel, both organic and non-, pelted his face. He sidled his way back to Trask.

"Three metalheads, all with rifles, if we go in there it'll be a turkey shoot for 'em." He scratched at his beard, and his eyes flashed to the other man. "Hand over your grenades."

Trask seemed surprised, but handed over his ordinance to Gerik, the man seemed to know what he was doing, after all.

Gerik took the grenades to the hallway intersection, pulled the pins, and tossed them. Two ear-shattering explosions were heard and the three troopers lay face down on the floor, limbs and human entrails littering the walls and floor of the corridor. Stepping over the bodies, Gerik motioned for Trask to follow him.

"Follow. We're only rooms away from the bridge."

Trask ran to the fallen Republic soldiers, one of them was still alive. "Listen here, Gerik. I'll leave Sith to die bleeding on the floor, but not one of ours!" He administered a medpack to the fallen man's neck, essentially stopping the bleeding. Gerik walked away as if in a trance, vibroblade leaving a bloody furrow in the deck, walking towards the trademark sounds of a lightsaber duel, the crashing and crackling of two tamed lightning storms unleashing their rage at one another. Trask shook his head, there was definitely something _off_ about his fellow survivor, the longer the fight went on, the weirder he got. He shook his head and patted the fallen soldier on the shoulder.

"We'll get a medic over here as soon as we can, just hold tight, sound good?" After hearing the door hiss open and seeing Gerik walk through into a battle between Jedi and Sith Knights, Trask ran after him. "You can't interfere! We'll all just get killed!"

Gerik walked towards the fight, still in a trancelike state, seeing the red and blue flashes of the graceful weapons broke him out of whatever he was in. Slowly he came to his senses, watching the outcome of the fight in front of him. Trask ran up, screaming something about getting killed.

_No shit, if the Jedi loses, we're both probably dead._

Both of them stared openmouthed at the combat before them. Gerik swore that he had never seen such a graceful display of human motion before, the fight was more an art form than anything else. The Sith Lord found an opening and thrust, but found only empty air as the Jedi Knight twisted in a way Gerik didn't think was humanly possible. She continued the spinning motion, robes flowing behind her, lightsaber twirling around her hand to land directly across the Sith Lord's neck, decapitating him. Trask ran up to the woman.

_No doubt seeing if she's alright._

"That was incredible! You're not hurt, are you?"

The woman smiled weakly at the questioning man. "I'm quite alright, ju-"

Light from the panel in back of the Jedi engulfed her form, her silhouette burned into the two soldiers' eyes. She fell slowly, almost gracefully. Gerik could have sworn that she just fell asleep if it weren't for the hundreds of small metal shards embedded in her back and along her sides.

"Damn, we could have really used her help."

Gerik shook his head, pausing only to take the few medpacks the Jedi had on her body and moving forward, before long he held up his arm, stopping Trask in his tracks and pointed at the door to the bridge.

"Door's open, I don't hear anything, though. Could be a trap."

He snuck around to the door and took a peek. Three Sith troopers, all with melee weapons, he turned to Trask.

"You have anything other than that blaster?"

Trask shook his head.

"Damn. Just stay back, if you accidentally blow out a panel, we'll all get vented to fucking who knows where."

Gerik readied himself and charged into the room, rushing the first trooper before he could get his weapon up in time to defend. The vibroblade flashed once and was embedded in the soldier's faceplate, a river of scarlet running down his reflective uniform. The other two troopers approached him cautiously, circling from side to side. Gerik's eyes flitted from soldier to soldier, waiting for one of them to strike.

The rightmost one did first, the point of his blade seeking Gerik's heart. With a roar, Gerik parried the blade upwards with his own, punching the trooper's throat simultaneously, stowing the gorget in and essentially making his neck useless. The trooper collapsed to the floor in a heaving pile of choking flesh, blood dripping on his facemask from Gerik's lacerated and bruised knuckles.

The final Sith trooper lunged at Gerik, a wide overhead sweep that was meant to take his head off. Gerik fell to one knee and pivoted, sloshing blood over the floor, drove his blade through the small of the man's back. As the soldier's lifeblood left him, Gerik took his neck in between forearm and bicep, twisted, and snapped it.

A wave of rage swept over him as he felt the life rush out of the third Sith trooper, and he let out another bestial roar at the dead bodies. However, Trask brought him back into focus with a shake on his shoulder.

"You back? You're awfully…handy with that thing." He pointed at the bloodstained vibroblade, Trask looked visibly shaken by what he had seen.

_This guy, he fights like a cornered animal, it's disgusting._

"Hey! The _Spire_'s about to come apart, we gotta get the hell out of here!"

At this revelation, the red mist obscuring Gerik's vision left him and the world lurched into focus. Painfully. He doubled up on the ground, hands around his head. In but moments, though, he straightened up and threw Trask a look.

"I haven't a clue what's past that door, I've only been in the crew quarters and the bridge, you better lead."

Trask nodded in the affirmative, opening the door out of the command center.

The telltale _fizz_ of a lightsaber being activated and the room was illuminated in a ruby glow. A well-built man, head shaven except for a black goatee blocked their way across. He flourished his lightsaber as if taunting the two survivors, giving them a predatory grin. Sweat popped across Gerik's brow, mingling with the blood from the Sith troopers, sliding down his face. Trask was trembling next to him, and then grew still. He looked at Gerik, his voice calm but eyes wide in fear.

"Listen, Gerik. I don't know why, but the Captain needs you safe at the escape pods. Hurry up and get out of here. Go! I'll hold him off!"

Trask ran towards the Sith Lord, surprising him, and palmed the keycode into the door, slamming it shut behind him. Gerik was stunned into shock.

_He just…why for me?_ His head spun in confusion. _Why am I so damn special? Requested by the Jedi, conscripted into an officer position, and now this? The __**Captain**__ said that I needed to be safe?_

Too many damn questions, and not the proper time to be asking any of them. The beeping of his communicator ripped him out of his own head for a time.

"Ensign, this is the Captain, all escape pods are away but one, and Bastila has escaped, get here quick as you can. I repeat, as quick as you can!" The message cut out, blaster fire filling the miniature holoscreen.

Gerik ran to the starboard side of the ship, the door opening with a hiss. He dispatched three more soldiers with ease when his comlink beeped again.

"I have you on screen, Gerik. There's a full contingent of Sith up ahead, engaging them head on would be suicide, try to find another way through."

Gerik looked around, there was an inactivate droid and a computer terminal. He was always balls-bad with computers, so he took a look at the combat droid. A few minutes of tinkering with the combat actuator and target locator had the droid ready and operational.

"Command: Kill all Sith in the room over."

***Command acknowledged***

The droid clanked its way through the door, its quad-laser batteries making short work of the Sith inside. There was an explosion, however, and the droid's head rolled through the open door, Gerik glanced at the monitor. One Sith was left standing, clad in blood-red armor from head to toe, vibroblade at the ready. Gerik grinned savagely and charged into the room with a wordless howl.

The Sith lieutenant, taken by surprise, barely fended off Gerik's first wild thrust at the neck, parrying it away from him and taking a few steps back to inspect his foe. Covered in blood and scrapes, the bearded man lashed out again with his blade, attempting to tear across the lieutenant's chest, metal barely a blur. This time, the Sith was ready for it, backstepped away from the blow, and drove the point of his weapon through the meat of Gerik's thigh.

Gerik screamed more in rage than pain and grasped his wound with one hand, keeping the vibroblade stuck in his leg. The trooper tried to free his blade, but couldn't the pressure from Gerik's hand keeping the metal lodged in the wound. The large man spun around and swung his sword in a downward arc. In a flash of metal and red, the Sith's arm was on the ground, having let go of the vibroblade stuck in Gerik's leg.

Keeping the momentum of the spin going, Gerik smashed his elbow into the Sith's faceplate, obliterating the bones in his face and slashing his arm in the process. The red-armored man crumpled to the ground, but not before gashing Gerik across the forehead with an arm-mounted vibrodagger. Barely alive, trying to breathe through a ruined face, the trooper groaned and looked vacantly at the room. Gerik turned around, calming himself after the battle. Though it barely took seconds, it felt like hours had passed since he had reprogrammed the droid. He took a shaky breath and rushed down the next corridor.

_What just happened? I don't remember ever fighting like __**that**__. More goddamn questions…_

He found the Captain felling two last Sith troopers with his trademark double blaster pistols.

"Hurry! Get over here!"

Gerik ran to, or more accurately, limped to the man. The adrenaline rush from constant battle wearing off, he realized that his leg damn **hurt** bad. He then saw the size of the escape pod.

"You expect _both_ of us to fit in there?" He glanced at Carth, they were both rather large people, personal space would be nonexistent in the escape pod.

"It's either that or you stay behind, Ensign! What is it?"

Gerik glared at the Captain, but gave in, he didn't want to go down with the ship very much, and he needed answers.

Both men squeezed into the tiny space, and Gerik felt the weight of Carth's body against his back, the warm heat of his breath on his neck, the scratch of stubble against skin.

"No goddamn room in these things…" At that, Carth moved his arms around Gerik's midsection, trying to keep them from getting crushed, ostensibly. The pod launched, arcing its way into Taris' atmosphere, the intense heat trying to shake the pod to pieces. This wasn't fun.

This wasn't an enemy Gerik could fight, he couldn't make the atmosphere bleed, he couldn't trick his way out of it. For the first time, Gerik felt completely helpless.

He gripped Carth's hand as tight as possible, felt tendons creak under the pressure he was exerting, giving in to the fear was terrifying in of itself, but he had someone around him, to protect him, he felt as if Carth were guarding him from harm.

And, to tell the truth, he kinda liked it.


	5. Chapter 4: Breaking Blocks

**A/N: Valkommen to Taris, ladies and gents! Now, let's get one thing straight, in KOTOR, I hated Taris. I hated it sooooooo much. So I'm going to be skipping some thiiiiings, and lengthening some thiiiiiiiings. Also, I'm tossing in a new thing to the whole "Gerik/Revan" two-people-one-head thing. In situations that resemble events from Revan's past life extremely closely (like, almost identically), the Revan personality will take over. I always hated how "perfectly" the personality transplant worked out.**

**Now, this being the personality that experienced massive head trauma and brain damage, it isn't fully functional, basically turning Gerik into a rampaging engine of destruction, drawing on the Dark Side without knowing it, blah blah blah. Now before you scream out "you idiot, you just want him to be super-perfect-main-character-with-a-secret-source-of-power-thing", picture this. Revan went down in the middle of a high-stakes battle, the only thing on his mind being survival. **

**As you can imagine, this has complications. Let's see where they lead! Wheeeeeee!**

**Taris Lower City – 16:45 Coruscant – 3,956 BBY**

The pod rocketed through Taris' lower atmosphere, a fiery comet falling through the sky with other debris from the _Endar Spire_, the two men crushed in the flying oven falling with it. Carth's face was pressed into the back of Gerik's neck, his arms around the larger man's chest. The strength of Gerik's grip didn't help out with the pressure situation. He could hear the bones in his hand creak with the force that Gerik was exerting on his hands.

_Damn, this guy's __**strong**__._

Close to the end of the minutes-long plummet, Gerik's grip loosened dramatically and his head lolled to one side. Carth looked around the pod in a panic; there was a wound in the younger man's leg that was bleeding profusely, soaking both him and Carth in red.

"Come on; don't give up on me now!"

In the confined space, Carth somehow managed to take out and apply a medpack to the injured limb, staunching the flow of blood and flooding Gerik's body with a cocktail of nutrients and stims. The redhead groaned, the stims keeping him conscious even through massive amounts of blood loss. The pod's proximity alarm sounded, notifying its passengers that it would be making its "landing" soon. Carth squeezed his arms around the other passenger's chest, pressing his face against the back of Gerik's neck.

"Just stay with me, almost there."

The bearded man stunk, a mixture of dried blood and sweat staining his clothes, but Carth pushed it to the back of his head.

_We need to get out of here alive, just one of us needs to be conscious at the end of this._

The pod crashed through the walkways of the upper city, obliterating durasteel structures and causing a local panic. A loud cracking noise made Carth wince, the pod coming to rest on what sounded like a heavy metal structure, after a few minutes, the pneumatic seals on the pod's hatch hissed open, delivering in a gust of fresh air. For the second time in minutes, Carth winced, he'd have to get Gerik out of the pod somehow, and the big man wasn't moving anywhere on his own anytime soon. He maneuvered behind the other man, jamming a shoulder in his back and shoving him out of the pod. Gerik fell to the ground with a _thud,_ collapsing to the concrete floor in a pile. Carth stepped out of the pod and looked around furtively. The gleaming buildings and presence (however faint) of sunlight informed him that they were in the upper city.

Carth breathed a sigh of relief, getting medical help in the upper city wouldn't be nearly has hard as if they landed lower. He said a silent prayer of thanks to whoever invented durasteel, looking at the massive dent in the road where the pod crashed. Carth almost burst out laughing as he turned around; a city directory lay in the road where the impact knocked it off of its stand.

_Finally, some luck in __**our**__ favor._

He found the details for the nearest apartment complex in the directory and walked over to Gerik.

"After this, big guy, you owe me."

Carth grunted as he lifted Gerik's massive bulk over a shoulder and staggered towards the direction of the apartment complex. He took back alleyways; Carth didn't feel like getting caught if the authorities noticed them, as they were both covered in blood. He chuckled to himself.

_Most of it not our own._

-End of Line-

Another escape pod was making its way down through Taris' atmosphere just a few moments before theirs. Inside sat a young woman clad in brown robes, somehow keeping her calm during the descent. She drew the force to her, focusing on the battle above, a latticework of pearlescent lines appeared before her, connecting the core of her body to the soldiers on the _Endar Spire_, both Sith and Republic. Concentrating, she _pulled_ the 'strings' connected to the Republic soldiers, infusing them with power, both mental and physical while refreshing their bodies and minds. She then slackened her grasp on the strings connected to the Sith soldiers, filling them with apparent dread and lethargy.

Her pod started to jostle in the intense heat of the atmosphere, knocking her out of her meditation. The shining grid of life disappeared, and Bastila was jerked back to reality. Not a very pleasant reality, as she was hurtling towards an unfriendly landscape, the shining towers of Taris coming into view like so many needles intent on taking her life. Her pod crashed once, and then twice, breaking through a weakened support of the Upper City and landing directly in the lower. The first crash caused Bastila's head to smash into one of the beams holding the escape pod together, dazing her. The second caused another shooting pain to lance through her skull, along with popping the hatch on the pod due to impact fractures.

The first sight Bastila was granted of Taris was of three Nikto waiting for the pod to open, leering through the open door. She threw her hands to her sash, preparing to end their lives at the point of her lightsaber, her hands, however, grasped only air. She tried to push them away, but the battle meditation left her drained. Bastila then did the only thing that she could think of, she put up her hands in the universal gesture for 'Look, I'm not carrying a big scary gun.'

"I'm sure that if you take me to your leader, we will find a peaceful situation to all of this." Bastila said, trying to reason with the aliens.

The Nikto advanced on her, shock sticks raised above their heads, menace in their eyes.

The world spun and turned white.

-End of Line-

_A young Jedi stared down an opponent on what appeared to be the bridge of a large spacefaring vessel, her brown robes swirling around her in accordance with the movement of her lightsaber. The yellow beam cut across the neck of a man in a form-fitting grey tunic, his head shrouded by a deep black hood. The sizzling of energy was heard and the man crumpled to the floor, charred hood smoking._

Former communications officer of the _Endar Spire_, Gerik Tassa, rolled around on a threadbare bed in the confines of an abandoned Upper City apartment. His eyes creaked open slowly, and he looked around blearily.

"Good to see you up, instead of thrashing about in your sleep. Must have been one hell of a nightmare, I was starting to wonder if you'd ever get up."

Gerik groaned and sat up, lifting the blanket to examine his wounds. Both his leg and his torso were heavily bandaged, and it looked like the bandages were recently replaced, judging by the lack of blood on the white fabric.

"I can't imagine it was easy to lug me to…" Gerik looked around at the windowless apartment, searching for a benchmark for location "…where the fuck **are** we, anyway?"

"We're in Taris' upper city, usually reserved for the wealthy." He scratched the two-day growth on his face. "Well, as wealthy you can be on Taris without attracting the wrong kind of attention."

Gerik sighed, leaning back on his undamaged arm. "How long was I out?"

"About two days, I was just going to go out and get supplies; we've been cooped up in here ever since the Sith landed."

Carth's face darkened and he glared out the slits in the apartment wall that served as "windows". "Those bastards came down here about a day ago, no doubt searching for survivors." The last word was laden with enough contempt so as Gerik would take it as 'searching for Bastila'.

"While they're searching for her, we can get off of this rock, then. It'll be easy." Gerik got up, wrapped a towel around his waist to preserve his modesty, and walked to the shower. Well, _tried_ to walk to the shower. Carth grabbed his arm before he could get far.

"Listen here. I may hate that stuck-up Jedi as much as the next guy, but we're not leaving this planet until we make _sure_ she gets off this 'rock' safely. Get me?" He glared to emphasize his point. "You're still a soldier with the Republic, as far as I'm concerned."

Gerik shook his arm out of Carth's grasp, maneuvering his way around him into the shower. "I don't owe a damn thing to either the Republic or to that Jedi, as far as I'm concerned, me and the Republic, we're through."

"Why do you think you got off of that ship alive? Why do you think you were able to kill entire _squads_ of troopers without getting completely blown away by them?" Carth said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll tell you why, it's because Bastila used her mumbo-jumbo magic on her way down. If anything, we owe her _our_ lives. Besides, she personally requested you for this assignment; you can't just leave her behind like that!"

"Requested? Are you screwing with me? I didn't even know what the woman _looked like _before she stormed onto the bridge that one time." Gerik shut the door behind him, voice being muffled somewhat.

"She didn't even tell you? Hmm, apparently, she requested you _personally_, and had your name added to the roster at the last minute." Carth's face turned thunderous. "You know, we _did_ have an unexplained security leak which caused the _Leviathan_ to be waiting for us here around Taris."

"What, so you're accusing me of being in league with the Sith? Even after I was almost killed by them about seven times? _Damn, _you're a suspicious guy."

Carth sighed. "Can't fault me, I'm just trying to put all of the pieces together here."

"Fine, we'll go after the Jedi before we leave, where d'you suggest we start, then?" Gerik shouted through the closed door.

The hissing of water was heard from the other room, steam leaking out of the door. Carth flipped through one of the newspapers, realized that he'd already read it twice, and threw it in the corner of the room.

"Normally I wouldn't set foot on a planet occupied by the Sith, but we've got to get information somehow. I have a few places in mind, but none of them strike me as 'safe'."

Gerik went over this in his head for a few seconds, replying not soon after. "Up for a drink?"

"We're dead if the Sith know who we are anyway, so why _not_ try the cantina?" Carth said, tapping his foot, obviously impatient to get going.

Still dripping wet, Gerik came out of the room and got dressed, outfitting himself with his usual blaster pistol and vibroblade.

"Hold it. You can't just carry weapons around like that here!" Carth gestured to his twin heavy blasters, nested in their holsters resting against one of the chairs.

_Shit_.

Gerik reluctantly tossed his armaments in the corner footlocker.

"Besides, from what I've seen on-camera, you're pretty good with just your fists." Carth remarked, no doubt at the holovid record kept by his personal communicator.

"Alright, I get it; let's just find the Jedi so we can get off of this rock already." Gerik threw his hands up in the air, resigned to a life of following this self-important Jedi around.

Not twenty steps after they left the relative safety of the abandoned apartment, the two Jedi-seekers came across their first proof of the Sith occupation on Taris. Two troopers and an officer were standing up two Duros who lived in the apartment complex, seemingly. The situation got violent when one of the aliens refused to comply, which resulted in his death. The Sith officer turned around to see Carth and Gerik, eyewitnesses to his misdeed. Desperate to find a story to suit his actions, the Sith rallied his troopers and shot an accusing finger at the duo.

"They're Republic fugitives, attack!"

Before either trooper could react, Carth pulled out a pair of hold-out blasters from his traditional orange flight jacket and brought the soldiers flanking the officer to their knees. Gerik, however, took more of a direct approach, rushing the Sith officer and clotheslining him before he could bring his blaster up to fend off the charging man. His legs flying out from underneath him, the officer fell to the floor. Gerik slid a knee underneath one of the man's feet as he fell and crashed down hard with his elbow, shattering the officer's kneecap completely. He looked up with a vicious smile. "Can't have this one going back to tell everyone that we're here, can we?"

Carth raised an eyebrow at his apparent bloodlust, but complied for practicality's sake, one flash of light and the Sith's life left him, a blackened hole burned through his skull. The Duros, at first taken aback at their quick action, thanked them profusely and promised to hide the bodies.

They stepped outside.

Unable to see the full extent of Coruscant, or was it that he just didn't remember?

_Odd, I know I was there. Why can't I remember what the outside of the docks looked like?_

Gerik looked up, absorbing the heights of the gleaming towers blazing with the light of the newly-risen sun. It appeared that he was gaping, as Carth commented on his slack-jawed expression.

"Don't be fooled by it. Taris might _look_ pretty, but you won't find a more corrupt city outside of the core."

For Carth, the towers held light other than that of the sun, one that reminded him of his homeworld of Telos, brutally razed by the Sith armada, the towers there only reflected the laser batteries as they pounded down on his home. He kept his head down, and walked straight to the cantina, ignoring his companion's looks.

They entered the cantina, passing by the Sith guard with bated breath. It was the test to see if the Sith sent out near-accurate descriptions of the two men. Thankfully, the guard let them pass without much difficulty, only asking them if they've seen any suspicious-looking aliens in the vicinity. Carth mused, it looked like the Sith soldiers' natural xenophobia was actually going to work out in their favor, being human amongst all of these other species naturally relieved suspicion.

The foggy neon lights of the cantina lit up a room filled with two kinds of people, the kind that had enough money to spend all day there, and the kind that had _just enough_ money to spend all day there. Gerik grinned, nobles and common drunks rubbing shoulders, only caring about nursing their drinks. It was just another oddity to come out of the Sith occupation. Everyone was too worried about the faceless soldiers to start any trouble between themselves. The two men fished for information for a good hour before they heard a large commotion coming from one of the back rooms. Gerik motioned for Carth to follow him and walked towards the ruckus.

It seemed to be some kind of observation room, holoscreens lining the walls, depicting Taris' version of bloodsport, (mostly) non-lethal dueling. The one no doubt behind this was a large hutt lounging in the back of the room, surrounded by a large group of armed people.

Gerik turned to Carth. "Say…how many credits do we have between us? Well. Between you, I'm flat-out broke."

"Not many, paying off people to keep the apartment off the map is damn expensive. I'd say we have enough for two or three more days here." Carth said, looking through his pockets for credit chips, pulling up almost empty.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt having a few more to our name, would it?" said Gerik, setting off in the direction of the hutt.

Carth was alarmed, his voice lowering to an agitated whisper. "You _can't_ be serious! The Sith are looking for us and you want to have your face broadcast all over the damn planet?"

"You worry too much, "Captain". We need money, and this is the easiest way to get it. Besides, we've already seen that they have no clue what we look like." He made a rather rude gesture at the back of the Sith soldier through the closed door. Gerik pushed his way through the crowd of armed individuals, ignoring threats and protestations alike, Carth trailing in his wake. Eventually, they made their way to the hutt, an almost-amorphous blob of fat and slithering muscle.

"Greetings, human. I apologize, but the betting windows are closed for now, no one seems to be interested in watching the same meat fight again, unless…" The hutt gave Gerik a predatory smile, looking for all of the world like an overly-pleased frog. "First things first, my name is Ajuur, I organize all of the duels here. We need a new duelist in the ring, a new face for the crowd."

Gerik returned the grin with one of his own. "You read my mind, Ajuur." His eyes narrowed, he had a good idea of what these dueling rings charged, and he once participated in a few on his homeworld once. Negotiations on the amount of payment were dealt with, Gerik eventually arguing his way into 15% of the profits gained by the ring.

_What am I doing, I've never even __**seen**__ one of these things before! It's like my mouth is moving by itself._

"Now that we have that out of the way, you need a name, something that the crowd can know you by? Let's see, you're an off-worlder, one with no past, a figure shrouded in mystery! No one will recognize you. While in the dueling ring, you'll be the 'Mysterious Stranger'!" The hutt was obviously excited about this newest addition to his dueling contingent, slimy spittle flying from his lips as he tested the name out.

"Sounds good, Ajuur, just one more thing." Gerik gave the hutt a smile, showing altogether more teeth than was necessary.

"Anything for my newest addition, well, besides a larger cut of the profits." The hutt said, letting out a deep laugh, shaking the pedestal he was lounging on.

Gerik's eyes widened to match the grin. "I want a mask."

After four bouts in the ring, no opponent providing his brutal fighting "style" with much challenge, he found himself staring face to face (well, face to mask, really) against his final adversary. A clinically psychotic Rodian who went by the name of "Twitch" in the ring was the current reigning champion of the arena. Twitch fought with double blasters, in a style much like Carth's. The Rodian managed to land a few shots, but was ultimately felled by the masked man.

"…all hail the new champion of the Taris dueling ring, The Mysterious Stranger!"

After this bout, the social circles of the Upper City finally got what they were wanting. A juicy rumor to spread around and sink their teeth into. The Sith occupation quelled all talk of scandals and the like. Who exactly _was_ this "Mysterious Stranger"? Why did he wear a mask? Might he be disfigured or a wanted man?

Upon hearing the last rumor, Carth's ears picked up danger. "Gerik, you have to stop this dueling nonsense. Sooner or later, the Sith are going to investigate who this Stranger is, and you'll be found out."

Gerik kicked back in one of the cantina's chairs, still flushed with the thrill of victory, his mask off, no one even thought that he might be the Stranger. "I promise, Carth, I'll stop. There's just one more fight left."

"Who? Who the _hell_ is left? You beat everyone, you heard the announcer, and you're the new _champion of the arena_." Carth spat out the title as if it was painful to pronounce.

"Ajuur's trying to set up a match between me and this 'Starkiller' guy, some Mandalorian from the war who likes to stomp on heads here." Gerik gestured towards the door, where a man in gold Mandalorian battle-armor was standing with his back turned to their table, arms crossed over his chest.

Carth's eyebrows shot up, "Hells below, Gerik, you might be good, but this is a _Mandalorian_ we're talking about. These guys were brought up fighting to the death!"

"Heh, funny you should word it that way." Gerik scratched at his temple, "This fight won't be, strictly speaking legal, the only way Starkiller would fight is if it was a deathmatch."

"Are you out of your fucking _mind?_ We have more than enough money to search for…" Carth looked around furtively "…for _Bastila_. There's no reason for you to get killed!"

"Calm down. Besides, I'm not doing this one for the money." Said Gerik, giving Carth the grin he was so fearful to see, once it appeared on his face, there was no way Carth was going to be able to talk the man out of whatever he was planning.

The rest of the day passed without much incident, only a telltale twitch of an eyebrow or curled lip gave any indication that Gerik was feeling anxious at all about the upcoming fight. As the hour of the fight approached, the cantina was packed with people wanting to see the fight between the most dangerous man to ever duel on Taris and the rising star of the arena.

Carth clapped the "Mysterious Stranger" on the back, leading him into the arena. "Just don't die, alright? I need you to help find Bastila."

_They're illegal, they're banned, they're been outlawed for nearly ten years – but we've got one for you tonight! A good, old-fashioned deathmatch!_

The announcer gave his customary introductions, and then the fight began in earnest.

"For Mandalore!" Bendak, upon seeing the masked man rush towards him, tossed away his blaster and drew his own blade. He smiled underneath his helmet, the rush of battle going to his head.

The crowd gasped as they saw this new fighter _charge _at their icon, implacable mask not showing any emotion. Gerik swung his vibrosword in a wild arc, aimed at instantly decapitating his opponent, but the sword only met air as the Mandalorian easily sidestepped the blow, responding in kind.

Gerik rolled mostly underneath the slash, the armored man's blade cleaving a furrow into the mask, chipping the top off and leaving a jagged cut in Gerik's forehead. The top half of the mask shattered, spinning across the durasteel floor, baring his eyes to the world and the ring. Blood streamed down his face, obscuring his vision, the red spattering down his mask, staining his beard an even deeper shade of scarlet. The crowd cheered first blood dealt, shouting their lust for blood at the combatants.

_A dark-robed masked Jedi stood before a large Mandalorian, the Jedi bleeding from a cut in the head, bloodied but unbowed. The Jedi twirled his lightsaber, leaving a complex pattern in the air, and angled it over one of his shoulders. The Mandalorian charged the Jedi, striking out like a viper, but the Jedi had twisted away, lightsaber flashing in a pattern too fast for the eye to see, slicing apart the Mandalorian's arms like so much firewood. _

His eyes gleamed golden above the mask, mouth bared in a rictus of joy underneath the mask, cracking the semi-dried blood that was matting his beard. This was a _real_ fight, _this_ adversary could actually kill him, and he couldn't be happier.

Starkiller nodded at Gerik, acknowledging him as a worthy opponent. "You fight well, Stranger, but I _will_ take your head!" He stepped forwards, vibrosword buzzing through the air in an overhand arc. Gerik blocked the blow with the flat of his blade, knocking it aside, venting out an uncontrollable roar of rage, spittle and flecks of blood staining the inside of his mask. The Mandalorian backed off, his helmet the only thing stopping him from showing his shaken face to the crowd.

The two men circled each other for a time, gauging the other's strength, one of them a stoic armor-clad warrior, the other a frothing rage-frenzied one. The rage-filled Gerik charged forward, whipping his sword at neck height, the Mandalorian backstepping the blow much like he did before. Gerik was ready for this, dropping to one knee and driving a fist into the Mandalorian's knee-plate. The armored man rocked backwards with a backwards-bent leg, his armor weak at the joints. Not giving him the time to recover, Gerik drove his blade through the Mandalorian's faceplate, a gurgling sound emitting from the helmet, the red of his blood fountaining out of the hole left by the blade.

The crowd was stunned for a few seconds, and then erupted into raucous cheering, tossing accolades at the masked man. The body of Bendak Starkiller still bleeding out at his side, the announcer walked onto the floor with microphone in hand.

_Bendak is down! It's over! The fight is over! Bendak Starkiller is down! Bendak Starkiller is dead!_

Seeing the upper half of Gerik's face exposed to the public along with the bloodlust he got during a fight, Carth rushed out of the waiting area onto the ring floor. Putting him into something almost like a headlock, Carth near-forcibly dragged Gerik out of the ring, the larger man in the daze he always seemed to fall into after a long fight.

_All hail the Mysterious Stranger, the greatest duelist ever to grace the rings of Taris!_

Carth swore to himself.

_Damn, this is exactly what we __**didn't**__ want to happen._

He was going to have to have a talk with Gerik whenever he came out of his stupor. Now, to get out of the damn cantina and back to the apartment before the Sith found out about the illegal deathmatch. As he was walking out, Ajuur's aide pressed around a month-long soldier's salary of credits into his hand.

"Ajuur sends his regards and hopes the Stranger gets well soon, if you ever have need of a profitable enterprise, the Taris dueling ring is always open for business."

Carth thanked the aide and walked back off to the abandoned apartment, glancing at Gerik's glazed-over eyes on the way.

_What have I gotten myself into?_


	6. Chapter 5: Why Do Jedi Not Wear Clothes?

**A/N: Oh wow, been a **_**month**_** since I've updated this. Sorry about that, work has been intense due to the fall movie season coming up, ambient noise is in high demand :/. Add a premature-winter flu to that and you've got a recipe for no free time whatsoever. Thankfully, the past few days I've been feeling better and managed to crank this gem out. Remember before how I said that I hated Taris? Yeah, the lower/undercity and sewers were by far my least favorite part of that entire game, so I kind of gloss over them here. **

**Also, the whole "swoop race to save Bastila" thing was **_**retarded**_**, in my most humble of opinions, so you'll see new stuff about that. Should be off of Taris in the next few chapters, and the story should finally start heating up! For those of you still around, that is XD.**

**Abandoned Apartment – Upper City of Taris – 9:30 Coruscant – 3,956 BBY**

Gerik groaned, even the dim lighting of the abandoned apartment giving him a near-splitting headache. Cracking his eyes open a little bit more, he noticed something not very uncommon to him in the past few days. He was face-to-face with the barrel of a blaster pistol, not a foot away from his head. He gave a second groan, this one more out of exasperation than pain. "Get that shit outta my fac-"

"No. I want to know what the _fuck_ is going on here." Carth trained his pistol on the injured man, his face the posterchild for anger. "Let's check off how much shit has happened in the past _two days_." He pulled out an imaginary list, pretending to check items off as he listed them. "You were specially requested by the Jedi to accompany Bastila on this mission. You were added to the ship's roster at the very last minute. The position of the _Endar Spire_ was given away before we left Coruscant. You just _happened_ to be one of the few who escaped the _Spire_ alive. You can best a trained Mandalorian in armed combat. And last but not least, let's not forget about the fact that you turn **completely batshit psychotic** when you fight. That's quite a fucking resume."

Gerik sat up, rubbing some of the long-dried blood off of his face. "I already told you, I don't _know _about any of that shit." His hands grasped the side of his head, fending off another headache, flakes of dried blood falling to the bed like some macabre snow flurry. "I'm getting a damn headache just _thinking_ about it. As far as that fight went, I dunno." The gun barrel dropped slightly at this, but only slightly. "It's like I _remember_ fighting. With the Mandalorian, I mean, but I don't_ actually_ remember, you know? I see shit in my head and then black out." He scrubbed at his face with the already-grimy bedsheet, slowly at first, then more frantic as time went on. His ablution complete, Gerik tossed the sheet to the floor, face half-clean of the blood amassed from the night before. "And when I come to, I always look like _this_."

The blaster dropped its point to the carpet, a sympathetic expression forming on Carth's face, belying the turmoil underneath. "A lot of us lost everything in the war, Gerik. Hells below, I lost my entire life because of those Mandalorian scum." And with that, Carth was more open with this strange man than to anyone he'd met since the war. "I don't want to tell you to stop feeling the hurt those bastards caused, I just don't want you to get us into any stupid shit." Gerik gave a wry smile. "Well, any _more_ stupid shit."

"Let's not worry about that right now, don't we have to go and find Bastila?" Gerik said, trying to deflect attention from the uncomfortable subject.

Carth seemed to be just as glad to get off of the subject as he was, barely waiting for the other man to finish. "After I left you here to sleep off…whatever that was, I went back to the cantina to see if anyone knew anything about Bastila." He pointed towards the corner, where two neatly-folded piles of clothing were sitting, burnished plates of armor stacked next to them. "Some metalheads were having a party after watching the arena all day, so…"

Gerik laughed: a deep, rich sound. "You _crashed_ a Sith party to get their uniforms? Why do we even _need_ those things anyway?" He pulled a face at the polished metal.

"While I was there I picked up some information about other escape pods." Said Carth, rummaging through the Sith uniforms for a datapad, tossing it to Gerik. "Take a look at _that._"

**Entry 145: 204****th**** Reconnaissance party:**

_Command wants us to search for the missing Jedi among the gangs of the lower city. It is reported that her pod crashed down (24,82) on your tactical maps. We are to either enlist the help of the swoop gangs or force them to give up the destination of the Jedi. We are to rendezvous with the 40__th__ at 1700 regardless of the situation on the search for the Jedi. Good hunting, men._

Gerik's face lit up with a grin. "They haven't found her yet, and now _we_ know where she is too." He handed the Sith datapad back to Carth as if it was some treasure of immeasurable value. "I'm starting to think we'll finally get off of this gods' forsaken rock."

"Well, what are we waiting for, then? We've got both the location and the means to get there." Said Carth, gesturing to the pile of Sith uniforms on the floor.

Moments later, two sharply dressed Sith troopers marched out of the door of an Upper City Taris apartment, armor plates glinting in the artificial light provided by the building. The duo walked to where the lift down to the lower city was located, faceless masks providing a hiding place for anxious faces every time they passed another Sith trooper. As they passed by what looked like a medical clinic, Carth turned to his partner in espionage.

"We've only got a few medpacs left, I used most of them putting you back together." Said Carth, pointing at the threshold of the clinic with an armored hand.

Gerik blushed underneath his helmet, he would have run a hand through his hair, as was custom if he was embarrassed, but the stifling Sith faceplate stopped that. "Yeah, I'll keep a rein on my temper until I get some answers." He frowned. Being embarrassed of anything seemed so…_foreign_ to him, being around this guy, this Republic captain was far too odd for Gerik to handle for long. The feeling passed soon after, however, and he patted his pack. "I've got nearly all of my winnings here, so go wild."

As they entered the clinic, the proprietor went ashen-faced and rigid. Too late, Carth and Gerik realized that walking into a peaceful medical clinic in full Sith regalia wasn't the best of ideas. The red-haired man's eyes were locked on a room in the back, of which the doors were shutting quickly and the familiar _hssss_ of pneumatic door-seals were heard. Carth held his hands up in the "I'm not going to shoot you" gesture again.

He seemed to be doing that far too often since becoming stranded on this corrupt sinkhole of a planet. The owner, a balding dark-skinned old man, turned to them, rapidly getting his fear under control. They exchanged few words, the tension running high, that is, until Gerik asked about the door they saw shutting in a hurry. The room felt like a ticking time bomb as the doctor reached around in his head for a suitable answer for these two Sith troopers. The metallic helmets were removed, showing two scruffy-looking men, one clean-cut, the other wild and ragged-looking.

"Listen, we're not here for any trouble, we just want to get supplies and be on our way." Carth tried taking a diplomatic approach to this man, the doctor didn't seem imposing, in fact, he seemed annoyed rather than cowed by the uniforms. A man with backbone enough to stand up to the Sith might make a valuable ally, Carth filed this information in the back of his head. Gerik wasn't so put off by the doctor's exterior, however. He caught a glimpse of something in the back room, in the split second before the doctor's reactions made him close the door and latch it. "Not so fast. I want to know what's back there."

The doctor, Zelka Forn, tried to wave away the comment. "Just spare supplies, nothing much."

"Bullshit, I saw tanks."

The darker man visibly paled.

"I want those doors opened." Gerik's face was a thundercloud. He was prepared to do whatever was necessary if this man was working for the Sith, conducting some strange experiments or what else their messed-up heads would do to them.

Zelka sighed and made his way to the door, shoulders slumped, resigned to the fact that his secret would be found out. The earlier _hssss_ was heard again, and the two men were left staring at their distorted reflections off of a pair of kolto tanks, vaguely humanoid forms floating around inside.

One was a Republic soldier Gerik didn't recall, and the other looked familiar, half of the soldier's face was burnt off by plasma discharge, and the legs were amputated below the knees. It hit him with the force of a Mk. II cruiser entering physical space. Private Emil managed to get off of the cruiser alive. Not intact, but alive. Immediately, he felt guilt course through his veins, he hadn't managed more than a passing thought towards her or the rest of the crew since he arrived on Taris. Gerik consoled himself with the fact that he was far too busy figuring out how to, at the same time, survive the Sith occupation, find a way off the planet, and save his erstwhile Jedi "employer". Oh, and figure out what the hell was going on with his head at the same time.

Her dirty-blonde hair, removed from its customary ponytail floated around her head like a tarnished halo, that along with the lighting of the kolto tank gave her an unearthly appearance as she floated in the healing liquid. He touched the glass tank, armored fingertips clacking against the thick walls. Taken aback by their somber silence, Zelka ventured a guess.

"You two, you aren't actually Sith troopers, are you?" He shied away, preparing to run if the worst were to happen. Carth turned around and locked eyes with the merchant.

"No. No we're not. And it doesn't seem like you take too kindly to the Sith either." He sensed a potential ally on a hostile planet, an opportunity not easily passed up. Zelka raised his hands, warding off the very thought of crossing his overseers. "It's just my duty as a doctor, I help _everyone_, Republic or Sith."

Gerik pushed past Carth, jerking a thumb back at the tanks. "How long?" The doctor shrugged.

"I don't know, days, weeks maybe, plasma burns are tricky business."

"Keep her here if she does wake up, she's with us." He and Emil were fast friends, their bond now forged in flight for survival. He couldn't leave her behind like he couldn't leave Carth.

Gerik and Carth left, their packs replenished with various medical supplies, stimulants, and applicators. He made a note on his datapad, the coordinates of the medical building were saved with a muted beep.

"She was the one you were always running around with, wasn't she?" Carth said awkwardly, trying to make conversation after the rather emotional ordeal.

"Yeah, she's something special, that one." Gerik explained that she was the first one to offer friendship to him in an unfamiliar locale, on an unfamiliar ship. They walked in silence until they reached the elevator down into the lower city. The Sith guard there accepted their uniforms at face value. Gerik suppressed a grin behind his polarized mask, security had gotten fairly lax around the lower city, and maybe would be moreso further down. Now, to see if they can just find Bastila in this underbelly of an already corrupt city.

-**End of Line**-

Gerik's boot came down in something that squished, squeaked, and scuttled away from him. _I'm walking around in the sewers with a teenage girl and a war vet, this sounds like the start of a bad joke_. After getting tips from one of the local swoop gangs, "the Hidden Beks", Gerik and company found out that Bastila was taken in by their rivals, the "Black Vulkars". Regardless of how silly Gerik found the names and posturing, they both were remarkably well-funded for petty racing gangs, and this was an opportunity to both make an underground ally _and_ find the Jedi, all they had to do was look out for some kind of prototype swoop accelerator while rescuing Bastila, easy enough. The teenage Twi'lek, Mission Vao, led the way through the sewers, as surefooted as one of the vermin scuttling around. She agreed to break them into the Vulkar base as long as they helped her find her longtime wookiee companion first. Naturally, they relented.

The only ones in the sewers, the clacking made by three pairs of bootheels made clacking sounds as they made their way through the darkened passages. Having long since ditched their Sith uniforms for some much-less weighty authorization papers given to them by Gadon, the leader of the Hidden Beks, Carth and Gerik walked around open-faced.

Right about then, Gerik would have preferred the helmet, it would at least alleviate the smell. No one was talking, Carth and Mission had another one of their spats. He was being too much of an old man and she a worldly teenager, who would have throught that things wouldn't be perfect in their little party?

"Big Z should just be through these next doors. Slavers like to hide out down here." The youth thumbed her blaster pistol. In a way she reminded Gerik of Emil, but with a fairly large but hidden mean streak. As cheerful as Mission might have seemed on the outside, Gerik didn't much want to get on her bad side. Sure enough, behind the second sewer door, the group started to hear the characteristic muffled snorting of the Gammorreans. Mixed in was a small growl, out of place amongst the more nasal sounds. "That's him, it's gotta be!" Mission quickly palmed in the key for the door, the party charged forward, Gerik in the vanguard, hoping to take the slavers by surprise.

Not two minutes later, the assembled group was crowded around a Wookiee, slowly unwrapping the chains that surrounded his body. Behind them lay six dead pig-snouted humanoids, vibroblade gashes marking half of them, the other three sporting impressive blaster burns.

"Damn, beard-o, you definitely know your way around a fight." Mission laughed, not glancing at the bodies as she carefully picked her way over them, footfalls almost delicate.

Gerik shook his head, at once both relieved and disturbed. He didn't lose his head during the fight, which marked progress. Or maybe he was finally started to feel a bit more normal. At the same time, he was immensely disturbed by Mission's ability to kill and be perfectly cheerful not a moment after the fight ended. When he met the girl, he at first thought she was a bumbling ditzy Twi'lek finding her way around the underworld through a combination of luck and the help of an extremely large wookiee. Further inspection revealed a carefully crafted separation of personalities. The cheerful girl and unrepentant killer were one and the same person, even though Mission herself didn't know it.

_I'm no shrink, but she might be crazier than I am._ Her almost split-personalities had him on edge. _This must be what Carth was feeling around me, hell, might __**still**__ be feeling about me._ Just thinking the thought was feeling a tidal wave of guilt buffet his psyche. He didn't exactly know why, but picturing Carth upset or disturbed was, well, painful. The wookiee and him exchanged pleasantries, and after the formal introductions in shyriiwook, the creature pledged a life-debt to him.

"Do you know what this _means_, beard-o?" Mission had an incredulous look on her face. "Listen, Big Z, don't do anything ya don't want to! We don't even _know _this guy!"

Zaalbar growled at her, invoking images of duty, requirements of the wookiee people, and tradition. Life amongst the giant metal trees was as harsh as it was in his homeland, and these shadowlands, while different, sill amounted to the same thing. And as his life was saved in the shadowlands by a stranger, wookiee tradition required that he followed up with a lifedebt to his savior.

As uncomfortable as it felt, having a being bound to him for life, until his debt was paid by saving _Gerik_'s life, he accepted. He knew enough about wookiee culture to know that a refusal of a life-debt was the largest insult one could hurl at a wookiee. And as the old saying goes: "Let the wookiee win." He turned to Zaalbar, surprising him by speaking his native tongue.

"I accept, until one of us falls."

A somber growl made the lifedebt official, Mission turning her head, obviously dissatisfied with the way things turned out.

"Listen here, beard-o, wherever Big Z goes, I go too." She crossed her arms over her chest, lekku twitching, adopting a "pouty teenager" stance.

"Now we've got a _teenager_ following us around? We're not just here for playtime, girl." Carth was _fuming_ at Gerik's acquiescence to Mission's request.

The Twi'lek scoffed "Look who's talkin', Gramps. Shouldn't you be in a walker somewhere?"

Gerik smiled wistfully, the banter reminding him of the brief stint he spent on the Endar spire with Emil. He didn't quite know how, but he knew that there wasn't any malice behind Carth and Mission's arguments. In fact, they seemed like a sort of dysfunctional family, Carth the overbearing older brother, and her the tomboyish young sister.

They passed through a few more dank corridors, Zaalbar's immense wookiee strength doing away with the few rhakghouls they passed. Gerik shuddered. The creatures used to be human, but some type of disease mutated their cells beyond recognition and turned them into grey simian slime-skinned horrors. A single bite by one would quickly fester and over time, repeat the transformation process if the antidote was not administered quickly. Luckily, they came across a Sith patrol earlier, no doubt the same one mentioned in Carth's recovered datapad. The patrol leader had several vials of the serum on his person, and they were quickly snapped up by the motley crew.

The crew continued their journey into the sewers, now that Zaalbar was free; Mission agreed to lead them to a secret sewer-side entrance to the base of the Vulkars. Two hours, a ruined pair of boots, 20-some rhakghouls, and a rancor later, Gerik stood at a dingy pair of double-doors with only a teenager's boastful promises that it would lead where he needed it to. The Twi'lek stood behind him, trying her best to vainly wipe rancor goo off of her vest. They had to trick the thing into eating grenades, as none of them were carrying around a turbolaser battery on their back to take the gigantic animal out. Mission pushed past the rest of the group, slapping her palm on the holo-console, with a few deft (if slimy) keystrokes the door opened with a rusty screech.

Sparse and flickering lighting illuminated the dingy storage room, it looked like it had been unused for years prior to the four strangers exploring it, looking tirelessly for a way up into the base proper.

"Got ya! Gramps, get over here and move these crates." Mission waved her arms around as if she were flagging down a starship.

Carth sighed, giving up arguing about Mission's insistence on giving everyone strange nicknames, in a way he found it "frustratingly endearing". The crates protested with a grinding noise as Carth and Gerik shoved them from their longtime home. And there it stood, behind grease-stained double doors, the elevator.

"Normally, I'd leave ya here, but since Big Z's gotta stay with ya, I better stick around, keep him from doing anything stupid."

With that, she sliced open the doors to the elevator, allowing the party access to the depths of the Vulkar hideout. The doors opened to the faces of two _very_ surprised human guards. They almost got their blasters up in time, but _almost_ wasn't fast enough as two vibroblades found the crowns of their heads the moment the doors opened. Zaalbar and Gerik cleaned off their blades on the bodies of the guards as Mission scouted ahead, her stealth field protecting her from the roving eyes of the cameras. Gerik grunted, there were a surprising amount of those around, the Vulkars certainly didn't want for automated security.

Mission returned, materializing out of thin air with a muffled hiss, a small blaster burn on her right arm, singing her vest. "Darn guard almost got me, tripped over a wire and the field got screwy for a few seconds." Zaalbar let out a warning growl, promising retribution to the wrongdoer. "Sorry Z, I took over your job there, he's not gonna be shooting anyone else." Mission turned to Carth and Gerik. "Seems like Bastila's being held near the swoop garage, that's all I could figure out from the guards and terminals."

Carth raised an eyebrow, this girl was _good_ at what she did. Gerik gave off a feral grin, mentally appreciating the Mission's professionalism and ruthlessness. "Let's go and pay the rest of the Vulkars a little visit, wouldn't be polite, stopping by without meeting our host after all" said Gerik, hand stroking the hilt of his vibroblade.

The leader of the Vulkars, Brejik, was engaged in a heated debate with his second in command, a no-nonsense Twi'lek. She wanted to do away with the Jedi, believing that she was far too much of a risk to keep around. Brejik, naturally, did not agree.

"Brejik, she's worth a lot, yeah, but if we keep her around, the Sith **are** going to find her sooner or later." Said the Twi'lek, drumming her fingers nervously on the transperisteel desk, Brejik was _not_ known for his patience or kindness to his followers. She was already treading a dangerously thin line just disagreeing with him on a point this important.

Brejik sighed, tired of arguing with his second, she was _far_ too valuable to just do away with, her uncanny abilities in combat were unmatched throughout the underworld. "Alright, alright, if we can't get anything for her in the next set, we'll contact the Sith and try to make a deal for her."

"_Contact the Sith?_ Brejik, are you crazy? They'll just take her and kill us all!" The Twi'lek was angry now, she was a pseudo-mercenary, a ruthless killer, but she was still a Tarisian at heart. She hated the Sith as much as any member of the Republic for what they were doing to her planet.

"Listen to me, here, the Sith are just people like us, they want the Jedi, and they _do_ reward people who bring them in." Brejik left it at that, making it clear that he would brook no more argument on the matter. Lucky for him, stopping the conversation at that moment allowed him to hear soft beeping and whispering from behind the side door. His second also heard the commotion, and drew her dual blasters, taking a covering position behind the desk. "Get back, sir, someone's slicing the door." The Vulkar leader glanced at the cage in the back, the auburn-haired woman remained in a slumped-over position, the neural disruptor giving her no chance to resist with the Force or break out of the cage. He drew a blaster rifle and primed a frag grenade, getting it ready to shred whoever came through the door.

It opened.

"This should be some crew quarters here, noth-" Mission gulped as she saw the two waiting Vulkar leaders, blasters trained on her head. A frag grenade came sailing her way, Brejik's aim impeccable, it flew on a trajectory to land in the middle of the group, promising painful death with every accelerating beep. Fate, however, had other plans. The auburn-haired woman's cage burst open, the bars screaming promises of death at Brejik and the Twi'lek, at the same time, the grenade jerked forward in the air, flying past the assembled group and detonating harmlessly in the hallway. Bastila slumped in the now-doorless cage, obviously drained from the exertion of channeling so much of the Force at once.

Brejik was impaled through the leg by one of the jagged cage bars, but the Twi'lek avoided the other two gracefully, taking potshots at the group all the while. The blaster bolts fizzled against Carth and Gerik's personal shields, though draining them greatly. Gerik tipped over a decorative table, using it as cover for the three of them, Mission since having activated her stealth field the moment the shooting started.

"There are four of us, we all have shields, let's just _charge_ her." Said Gerik, spoiling for a fight, in his mind, a lone Twi'lek couldn't break through all of their shields at one time fast enough to even drop _one_ of them. Apparently, she knew this as well, as the shooting soon ended and the sound of blasters hitting the floor reached the group's ears.

"I'm not stupid, you know. I'm not going to keep fighting against four people who made it all the way through Brejik's guards without triggering _anything_." She raised her hands above her head, signaling defeat. "Take what you want, I'm out of here."

Gerik's eyes widened in shock. "You're just going to let us _take_ everything? Aren't you one of them?"

The Twi'lek laughed, "No, I'm just a merc, paid for and hired by Brejik, but since he's, well, there now…" she motioned at his body, slack with blood loss from two four-inch diameter durasteel bars through his legs, "…I'm gonna try and find a different employer, maybe one that won't get people like you angry enough to storm their hideout. So, can I go?"

Carth wasn't too keen on the fact, but the rest of the group, Zaalbar included, didn't see much wrong with letting the former Vulkar agent go, she seemed sincere, and they would get what they came for regardless.

Gerik glanced at the passed-out Jedi's face.

_Dammit, woman, I hope you're worth all of this._


End file.
